


Alone Among the Wrecked

by puchuupoet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Episode: s05e04 The End, Foursome, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-15
Updated: 2011-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-15 16:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puchuupoet/pseuds/puchuupoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the <a href="http://villainny.livejournal.com/1626605.html">Sex is Not The Enemy fic/art/whatever-athon</a> ♥ My prompt was <a href="http://sexisnottheenemy.tumblr.com/post/666424717/wwtt-androphilia-cobraestilo-luv2suk-via">this picture (not safe for work)</a>. Title taken from Mumford & Sons' "Little Lion Man".</p><p>Massive thanks to  and  for all your help and advice ♥♥</p>
    </blockquote>





	Alone Among the Wrecked

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Sex is Not The Enemy fic/art/whatever-athon](http://villainny.livejournal.com/1626605.html) ♥ My prompt was [this picture (not safe for work)](http://sexisnottheenemy.tumblr.com/post/666424717/wwtt-androphilia-cobraestilo-luv2suk-via). Title taken from Mumford & Sons' "Little Lion Man".
> 
> Massive thanks to and for all your help and advice ♥♥

  
Dean leans back against the worn couch, limbs heavier than normal. It's been awhile since he's drank like this; flushed and warm and surrounded by others. It's the closest he's gotten to a close-knit group in awhile, even if technically the people around him are strangers.

Chuck's in a chair next to the couch, leaning forward and gesturing at Cas with his glass. Dean hasn't been following their conversation, but he's pretty sure he heard them arguing about stocking priorities earlier in the evening. Dean - the _other_ Dean, and fuck, he's going to have to give him a nickname or something - is leaning against the table, facing the couch. Dean's still not used to seeing himself like this but somehow the creep factor has dropped as the hours have passed and the bottles emptied.

Dean's been noticing Cas look over at him throughout the night; nothing obvious, but if he was a chick Dean would've been sure of his intentions. Even now, with the buzz and the way Cas stretches out, Dean's pretty sure neither of them would be adverse to something happening.

"Got some more, if you're empty." Dean's voice calls from the other side of the room, and it takes a minute for Dean to realize it's not just him talking out loud to himself. Fucking time travel. Fuck Zachariah.

"Trying to get me drunk, Smith?" The name just slips out but the other Dean perks up from where he's leaning against the wall.

"What'd you call me?"

"From the first time Zach fucked us over bareback. Come on, think a bit more." The whiskey makes Dean's head pound, distracts him from the things he probably shouldn't be saying. But Chuck's snickering and Cas is looking pleased, and Dean keeps going. "Or d'you prefer Wesson?"

"You're a dick." The other Dean pauses. "And Smith, I guess."

"You're still pouring?" When Smith nods, Dean grabs on to the arm of the couch and pulls himself up, carefully grasping his mason jar in his other hand. There were glasses somewhere, probably the girls' cabin or the kitchen area, but no one had wanted to leave the room to try and find them.

He makes his way over to the table, almost pleased with how the room's starting to spin. It's been too long since he's allowed himself the freedom to let go. Tomorrow's been set aside for prep work and any last minute decisions that need to be taken care of, so tonight's for letting loose.

There's a colorful patchwork of bottles on the table, and Dean recognizes maybe half of the worn off labels. There are a couple large jugs full of clear liquid scattered throughout the whiskeys and vodkas, and he's pretty sure he sees Cas' absinthe tucked in there as well. It's almost as if they're expecting the worse to happen when they leave, the way the entire stock has been brought out and put on display.

Dean's making up his mind when Smith gets close, leaning up against him. "You've been drinking whiskey, right? Here," he says, setting a bottle in front of Dean. "Don't want you too fucked up for tomorrow." He moves away to the sound of Cas and Chuck snickering, and all Dean notices is how cool his side is now.

Dean pours himself another drink, only halfway this time, so that the liquid dances against the bottom of the "s" when he turns to head back to the couch. But Smith's in his spot, a smug smirk appearing on his face when their eyes meet.

Dean doesn't let it get to him, just walks back towards him, and sits down in the middle of the couch. Their thighs are resting against each other, and Dean wriggles back into the cushions, spreading his legs so that he's pressed up against the line of Smith's leg.

"So, what'd you think of it all?" Smith is less wasted than Dean is, and Dean hates him for that. "Think it's worth saying no?"

"Dammit," Dean growls out, not in the mood to deal with this again. His mistake is spread out before him, clear and obvious, and he doesn't need this jackass version of himself to keep pointing it out to him. The ache cuts deeper every time he looks over at Cas, at that shit-eating grin on Cas' face that's nothing like the Castiel he knows. That scares him the most, that he was able to reduce an angel to this giddy, high human before him. Dean's tempted to see how _yes_ tastes on his tongue, but knows that won't do a damn thing until Zachariah pulls him out of here.

"Thought we weren't talking shop tonight?" Cas' voice breaks through the tension and both Deans turn to look at him.

"What do you suggest then?"

"We all take a deep breath and mellow out." Cas seems settled in his chair, but Dean can see the muscles in his arm flexing as he picks at the fabric.

"I'm not smoking any of your shit Cas, you know that already."

"I wasn't suggesting that." Cas moves from the chair to the couch in one smooth movement, taking up the empty space on the other side of Dean. Just that has Dean feeling overheated and slightly on edge, and he starts to shrug his jacket off.

"Hold this?" Dean asks, handing his jar to Cas, who just hums and smiles as he accepts it. Dean manages to get his jacket off without hitting anyone and tosses it over on the empty seat.

"Better?" Cas asks, holding Dean's whiskey just out of reach. He grins at Dean's lopsided nod. "Think you may have had enough."

"Yeah, like you're one to set limits?" Smith's voice is harsh and bitter behind Dean, and Dean sees how Cas freezes, eyes darting to stare at the other man. It hurts to see him like this, and the chant continues in the back of Dean's head: _you did this, you did this to him_.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean keeps his voice low, but Cas doesn't look back at him. Dean tries another tactic, reaching out to brush his fingers against the side of Cas' neck. That gets his attention, a desperate hungry look that twists at Dean's belly.

"Cas..." Dean's fingers tighten around the curve of his neck, and that's all Cas seems to need before he's leaning towards Dean. His free hand lands between Dean's legs, bracing himself as he presses his mouth against Dean's.

Dean's pretty sure he hears Chuck swear somewhere in the background, but he's too busy trying to stay upright. Cas is desperate, moaning when Dean opens his mouth and licks at Cas' lips. There's something familiar there, and Dean's almost drunk enough to say that Cas tastes the way Dean thought he would.

Dean can feel his shoulder start to hit Smith's arm and he stiffens, reminding of where they are and who's watching them. Cas doesn't mind, just goes back to licking at the roof of Dean's mouth.

There's something tickling the back of Dean's neck, a soft tickle that he'd pass off as a fly any other time. But his duplicate is sitting behind him, and that realization makes Dean wriggle out from between Cas and Dean, twisting around to glare at Smith.

"Are you fucking hitting on me?"

At Dean's accusation Cas starts laughing. "How would you even know?" He manages to get out before taking a sip from Dean's jar. He leans over the arm of the couch to set the jar down on the floor.

"It's the same thing I use on chicks at the bars."

Smith - _That fucking traitor_ , Dean thinks - just leans back and smirks at him. "But did it work?"

"But did it...? Are you serious?"

A firm grip on his chin pulls Dean away from the conversation and back to Cas, who's grinning wolfishly. "I think you're wearing far too many clothes."

"And half my drink is suddenly gone," Dean accuses, but his argument is cut short when Cas slides his palm over the bulge in Dean's jeans. "What're you..."

Cas looks up at Smith. "Are you usually this confused when this sort of thing happens?"

"I hide it better if I am." Smith hesitates for a second. "Lift up, man." Without any other warning he leans over and grabs the hem of Dean's t-shirt, pulling it upward and over Dean's head.

"Good call," Cas grins. Dean whimpers when Cas' hand leaves Dean's crotch, then whimpers again for a completely different reason when he feels the pull and tug on his belt. He can feel the couch shift, and when he opens his eyes Cas is kneeling in front of him, eyes wide as he looks up at Dean.

"How many times did you wish this would happen?" Cas murmurs as his fingers trace down Dean's sides. They catch in belt loops and the edge of his boxers. Cas keeps pulling down, until Dean hitches his hips up and he's sitting there naked.

"So, pink panties and everything?" Smith's voice is rough from the side of the couch, and Dean looks over at him. It takes a moment for what he means to sink in, and Dean nods.

"Everything. Still the same person, sort of, remember?"

Smith lets his eyes drop down to where Cas is still kneeling. Dean was already feeling exposed when Cas shucked his clothes off, but now he can feel the slow drag of Smith's gaze as he makes his way up Dean's body.

Dean flushes when Smith finally meets his eyes. "Like what you see?"

"Always have," Smith purrs out, and Dean can't look away. He starts when a sudden cough from Chuck from across the room catches him off-guard.

"Wait, what?"

"You're telling me if you had a chance to get with this face, you'd pass it up?" Smith asks Chuck, gesturing at himself. "Not that different from writing yourself a girlfriend into the plot."

Chuck glares at Smith from his seat, taking a sip from his glass. "Becky was necessary for events to happen. Anything else that happened between us wasn't planned."

"Stop being a dick, Dean." Cas tells him, climbing back on the couch. He drapes himself over Dean's shoulder, nuzzling against his neck. "Or Smith, whoever you are tonight."

"Blow me, Cas."

"You had your chance." Cas' smile is bittersweet. "Come here," he turns to face Chuck, stretching a hand out. "There's always room."

Chuck wobbles over to the couch, leaning against the arm. He seems content to stay there, nursing his drink and cautiously watching what's unfolding before him.

Dean arches up when Cas' fingers finally touch his dick, a slow teasing caress from the head down the shaft. Cas stays like that, breath hot against Dean's neck, hand just close enough to Dean's sac to make him groan. Dean tries to roll his hips up, but he's pinned down by a hand on each hip.

"You're killing me here," Dean manages gets out, rolling his head over to bury it in Cas' hair. "Fucking tease."

"Mmmm," Cas agrees, licking down Dean's neck. "Fucking comes later though."

"God..." Dean's head falls back against the couch. Cas moans suddenly, pressing tighter against Dean, and when Dean glances over he can see why.

Chuck's joined them on the couch, shirtless and wobbly, bleary-eyed from stress and liquor and desperation. But there's an honest to god smile on Chuck's face as he lines himself up against Cas' back, nuzzling into the nape of his neck.

"God's gone," Chuck whispers. "Just us here now."

Dean watches as Cas reaches back to grasp at Chuck's shoulder, pulling him in closer. It's comforting and sweet and the last thing Dean was ever expecting to see from either of them. If these are desperate times, how desperate will people get to stay in touch with their humanity.

There's a soft smack to the back of Dean's head. "You're thinking way too much for having your dick in his hand."

Smith's hand stays where it lands, holding on to the short strands of Dean's hair. One sharp tug and Dean's facing him, staring into a damn mirror.

"Don't fuck this up," Smith murmurs, ducking his head to kiss Dean. It's a slow kiss, cautious until Dean parts his lips, but he can feel Smith smile when he does.

  


When Dean wakes up, he's alone on the couch. There's a thin blanket covering him, but it's not enough to keep the chill away. His clothes are in a neat pile on one of the chairs, and he's pretty sure that's a jug of water on the floor, positioned just within reach.

The door opens suddenly, a gust of wind slamming it against the wall, and Dean looks up as Smith comes in. His boots are muddy and Dean can see a sheen of sweat on Smith's forehead. There's a moment of silence as they eye each other up.

"Doing okay?"

Dean nods. "You?"

Smith looks away, eyes roaming over the room before they end back up on Dean. "There's stuff that needs to be cleaned and loaded up. When you're ready we could use the help."

"That's not what I was talking about."

Smith just stares at him until Dean can feel the start of a shiver at the base of his spine. "We've already talked about this, okay? Get dressed, drink some water, then come and help."

Smith walks back out the door, turning to face Dean at the last minute. "Just, you can't fumble this one, Dean. Don't lose Sammy like this."  



End file.
